


Open Doors (Lucifer x Reader)

by sondepoch



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Changing power dynamics, F/M, Fallen Angel Reader, Implied power dynamics, Mammon has familiars, Most cliche thing I've ever written, Pre-Canon, Wholesome Luci becomes Arrogant Luci becomes Wholesome Luci, but it's cute, canonverse, gender neutral reader, referenced/implied sex, slight symbolism attempts, very cliche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 10:22:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30070806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sondepoch/pseuds/sondepoch
Summary: You know when he's coming before even he does. The Avatar of Pride is simply so predictable in his actions—his loyalties have been laid out so clearly that anyone smart enough can figure out his next move, his next action, his next thought.You've told him more than once that he needs to learn to conceal himself better, that he's no longer in the realm of light, that the people here will take advantage of him as soon as they figure out how.The demon never listens.~Oneshot
Relationships: Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 62





	Open Doors (Lucifer x Reader)

You know when he's coming before even he does, it seems. The Avatar of Pride is simply so predictable in his actions—his loyalties have been laid out so clearly that anyone smart enough can figure out his next move, his next action, his next thought.

You've told him more than once that he needs to learn to conceal himself better, that he's no longer in the realm of light, that the people here will take advantage of him as soon as they figure out how.

The demon never listens, of course.

His own pride always speaks louder in his mind than your words.

"Welcome back." It's not a particularly warm welcome given the bored drawl of your voice, but it's what you're willing to offer him. You watch his reflection in the window, lips curving into a smile when you realize that he didn't bring you another useless gift this time.

 _Good,_ you think at the back of your mind. _It's about time he shed those angelic habits._

"I'm here because—"

"I know why you're here," You interrupt smoothly, turning around to face him. "You always come here for the same reason, Lucifer. What went wrong this time?"

"The bill."

 _Ah._ You close your eyes and try not to remember how irritated you were when you were reading the newspaper yesterday morning. The entire front page was devoted to covering the recent bill that had been passed by the crown prince, an isolationist policy which brings the Devildom a step closer to hell.

_Yes, it makes sense that Lucifer would be troubled over that._

"Lucifer, I want to remind you that all the aid I have given you has been so that you can _improve_ upon the Devildom, not ruin it by allowing such ridiculous legislation to be passed."

The demon does a good job of holding himself upright through your withering gaze.

"It's not my fault Diavolo passed it," Lucifer says, looking offended. His wings bristle under your stare. On a normal day, you'd laugh at the sight. Right now, you're more preoccupied with the useless excuses spilling from the man's lips. "He had already decided when he came to speak to me about it. I couldn't do anything."

"You could have." You stand from your chair to walk over to the alcohol cabinet. You can already tell that this will be a long conversation, that you'll both be wanting something to drink. "You could have, and you would have if you weren't so _weak_. You were too busy trying to get our demon prince to like you to dare go against him, weren't you? When he asked for your opinion, you didn't even try to comment on how detrimental a tax break like this would be for the lower classes. You just nodded your head dumbly and told him it was a good idea, didn't you?"

The glare Lucifer shoots you is stormy. You're almost surprised at the intensity of it. The last time the two of you met, he was much more meek.

"I need to be on Diavolo's good side to protect my brothers. I'll do whatever it takes to keep them safe."

"They're not your 'brothers' anymore now that you're down in the Devildom."

"We are a family. Us falling changes nothing."

The two of you glare at each other for a moment longer (well, Lucifer glares; you really just stare at him in disappointment), but you finally glance away to pull a bottle of Demonus from a shelf. Two glasses follow.

"Don't give me that swill. I know you have better drinks."

Your lips curve upward into a smile Lucifer can't see. He really _has_ begun to grow into his own, now. He's still faltering, still a _baby_ compared to demons like you who have been here for so much longer, but he's lost the angelic sweetness which once compelled him to be so helplessly docile every time he came to your home.

"And why would I waste my better drinks on you?" You counter, quietly trying to see just how far you can push him.

"Because although you've been here longer than me, I outrank you. And you _will_ give me what I want."

You grin.

You easily take hold of the Celestial wine you keep hidden for special nights, something you always keep on hand because no matter how good expensive Demonus can be, Lucifer is right. It really is nothing but vile swill when compared to the intoxicating drink of your homeland.

"So tell me, Lucifer." You carry the two glasses of Celestial wine over to him. "If you're so much greater than me, why is it that _you're_ coming to _me_ for advice?"

The demon falters.

A laugh spills from your lips.

"It's fine, you can relax. You've certainly grown. I'm impressed with your ability to stand up for yourself. You're just as predictable as usual, but I dare say you've finally begun to act like a real demon. Enough to intimidate a decent portion of the population." You take a sip from your glass. "Though I doubt I'll ever fall into that bracket."

Lucifer scowls. "I didn't come here to be ridiculed."

He stands up as if motioning to leave.

At the back of your mind, you know it is a falsity; you know that he came here for a reason, and he won't leave until he gets the advice he needs. Briefly, you entertain the notion of letting him leave, of bidding him farewell and taking the expensive wine glass in his hands for yourself, but you ultimately decide not to. Perhaps it's your old angelic instincts compelling you to do so, or perhaps it's your quiet desire to see Lucifer bloom like the flower you know he will be; either way, you don't want him leaving just yet.

"Sit down," You command, and Lucifer has the wit to hide his inner relief. It would have been too humiliating for him to leave you and have to come crawling back, an insult to his pride. "You came here for a reason. And the bill Diavolo passed was bad, but you're intelligent enough to know how to fix it without my help."

Your eyes narrow when you see the bob of Lucifer's throat, slow and nervous.

 _Ah,_ you realize, instantly understanding.

There's only one thing in the world that can make the Avatar of Pride so anxious.

"What did your brothers do this time?"

And so Lucifer breaks completely.

A small part of you sighs when you realize that the stormy facade earlier was just that: a facade. The stress on Lucifer's face as he narrates the most recent tales of his brothers tells you all you need to know about how he's acclimating to the Devildom. He doesn't bother hiding anything from you, sparing no details as he quietly pleads for your help, your aid, your advice as he always does when he comes to your abode in these faraway woods.

"Please," He mumbles at the end, knowing that brute force will never make you bend to his will but that honesty might. "I can't...I won't let Diavolo take them away from me."

You sigh.

"When will you ever learn?" You mumble softly, standing up and walking to Lucifer. He's sitting on an armchair, head turned to the ground, so you kneel in front of him and force him to meet your eyes. "Lucifer, I need you to understand that you have to let your brothers go. They will forever be a weakness, and demons feast on weakness. Why do you think the Demon King kept you all together? He wants to keep you collared like a dog because he knows you'll never step out of line with your brothers next to you. You need to accept that you can't protect them."

"I can't." Lucifer looks desperate. "I can't let them go."

"You…" _You have to,_ you want to say. But the truth is that you know Lucifer won't listen. He's simply too angelic. Too pure. Too full of love to abandon his brothers and become a true demon.

"How did you do it?" He whispers. "How did you manage to abandon all your weaknesses when you fell?"

"We're not here to talk about me," You respond quickly, standing up. You hate talking about your fall, hate thinking about it.

"But you can—"

"No." The look you shoot Lucifer is harsher than anything you've ever shown him. He doesn't cower under your expression as you expect him to, but he does back off.

"Fine, then. How do you propose I fix this?" He gestures for you to sit in the armchair next to him, eyebrows furrowing in irritation. "Without abandoning my brothers," He adds, reading your mind.

You remain silent for a moment, thinking. After all, based on what the demon told you, his brothers really have worked him into a bind this time. But millennia of living in these woods has taught you more than how to see in the darkness of your study; the solution to Lucifer's problems is _there;_ he just won't like it.

Indeed, when you finally give him your advice—that getting his brothers in line by taking control and holding them in place with an iron fist might be the best way to keep them happy in the long run—the scowl on his face tell you all you need to know. His fists tense, and his throat bobs the way it always does when he bites back a snarky comment.

But the demon doesn't counter your suggestion.

"You already knew," You whisper, almost feeling bad for him. "You already knew that this was the only way."

"I was hoping you'd have a better solution," Lucifer mumbles, tipping his glass back and downing what little wine remains. "But if that's what it takes to keep them safe, I'll do it."

The _I'll do anything for them_ is implied.

"I probably won't visit for a while." The demon stands, and you know he's preparing to leave. "If I truly want to do what you say, I won't much free time to come out here."

That's fair. Your home is miles away from his, a three-day journey even if he flies at top speed with his wings.

"But I thank you for your help," Lucifer says, as always.

"Demons don't give thanks," You chastise him, clicking your tongue. When you see the sour expression on his face, you relent. "But you're welcome."

* * *

You're surprised to find that Lucifer holds true to his word. He really doesn't visit for a long time, days stretching into weeks stretching into months.

It almost makes you long for the old days, where he used to stop by every week. And the next few centuries, when his visits to your bungalow began to fade into a bi-weekly event. Even the millennia after that, where he'd only be in need of your advice once a month.

For the past hundred years or so, the Avatar of Pride's visits have grown irregular. Sometimes you'd see him twice in a single week. Sometimes once in two months. But there was always an unspoken _I'll be back_ , and you were content with that.

But now, it's been nearly eight months since you last saw Lucifer.

You're not sure if the fact should make you happy or sad.

The truth of the matter is that Lucifer was the only company you had. And as much as you mocked him for his angelic habits, his presence was a welcome change from the silence of the woods that surround you. You originally built your home here _because_ of the isolation, because it was the only place in the Devildom without pollution, the only place in the Devildom where you could look at the sky and see the stars of your homeland where all your friends and family lived.

You stopped caring about them millennia ago, though.

And Lucifer's visits, frustrating as the demon is, were a pleasant change.

The demon appears to be doing well for himself, according to the newspapers. It seems that he really did take your advice—not your first suggestion, to discard his brothers and find strength on his own, but your latter suggestion, where you urged him to learn how to control the six. It seems that he's enrolled them all in a school to keep them busy, a smart decision that you're proud of him for making.

But every positive piece of news you learn of Lucifer is always offset by a sick feeling in your stomach, like a knife twisting in your gut.

Because the sad, selfish truth of the matter is that Lucifer always came to you for advice,

And based on the reports you've been seeing in the daily newspapers, he no longer needs it.

You have to push the thought from your mind as you stare out the window of your study, trying to watch the Devildom crows as they soar through the trees. 

You're familiar with some of these birds. They've taken a liking to you over the past few millennia, following you around and peering in and out of your window. You've particularly bonded well with one; an oddly well-groomed crow with arrow-like markings that point downward on its body. It often disappears for weeks on end, but it always comes back to the woods, back to watching over you as if it's your personal protector.

You squint, watching that same Devildom crow perform its mating dance on another, before the other bird flies away. A smile blooms on your face, but it's not the birds you're thinking of.

No, your mind is lost in memories of when Lucifer first came to you.

You remember staring out this very window when seven stars fell from the sky. You knew what it meant as soon as you saw their light approaching, still remembering the pain of your own fall. What you didn't expect was for one of those stars to show up at your door mere hours later, the angel turned demon wasting no time in throwing himself at your feet to beg for advice.

When he fell, Lucifer was convinced that you were the only person who could help him. You didn't quite understand how to express that you were just as demonic as everyone around you, that you were not the angel he seemed to be looking for...but the man needed a shoulder to lean on, so you readily helped him.

If you had known that giving him advice once, pointing him in the direction of the royal palace and advising that he rip two of his wings out before the Demon King got jealous and did it himself, would have led to a millennia-long relationship, you might have turned the Avatar of Pride away.

Now that you know what it's like to be without him, though, you're glad you didn't.

These past eight months have been long. Painfully long.

There's no haste in your pace as you walk over to the familiar alcohol cabinet, reaching for a glass. Usually, you make it a point to avoid drinking while alone—alcoholism is an unfortunate path for an immortal to take—but today, _just_ today, you think you'll make an exception.

You reach for the Demonus.

 _Swill,_ someone says at the back of your mind.

You grimace, abruptly pushing it aside to grab a bottle of Celestial wine.

"I never thought you were one for drinking alone."

You turn around in alarm, your demon form instantly manifesting and your wings spreading out in an immediate attempt to intimidate whoever stepped into your home. You don't even _think_ about the possibility that it might be Lucifer, too used to being able to predict his visits to think twice about the possibility of him doing something unexpected.

"I'm impressed with myself," The demon at the door breathes quietly. He looks utterly unfazed by the fact that your wings are out, that you're baring your teeth in what is supposed to be a terrifying display. "This is the first time I think I've properly surprised you."

The proud, almost cheeky smile that spreads on the demon's face somehow cools you down.

"You…" You don't bother saying anything in response, trying your best to make sure that your wings don't puff up stupidly the way Lucifer's sometimes do whenever he gets flustered. "I wasn't expecting a visit. You have no reason to be here."

You aren't sure if you should be proud of Lucifer or not. From the day the two of you met, you've been telling that he needs to be less predictable, that he can't let other demons be one step ahead of him.

This time, he was one step ahead of you. You're entirely uncertain how to feel about it.

"I do have a reason to be here. You just didn't expect me because I'm not here for advice." Lucifer fidgets with the cuff of his sleeve before stepping forward. "Though I apologize if I startled you."

You roll your eyes.

"I've told you this before. Demons—"

"Don't apologize. Yes. I know." Lucifer walks over to you, pulling two glasses from the overhead shelf. "My apology remains."

You shake your head softly. The progress Lucifer is making is winded, the man making strides in certain areas but still entirely out of tune with what it means to be a demon in other regards. You don't bother commenting on it, merely accepting his aid when he holds one of the glasses up for you to pour into.

The two of you walk to your usual positions once your glasses are filled: Lucifer, on one of the two armchairs that face your desk and you, sitting at the chair of your desk. It's the position you took when the two of you first met, and it's the position you've found yourselves in ever since, a perfect picture of comfort for both of you.

"It's been a while," You say after a long moment of just staring at each other. It's hard to keep the accusatory tone from your voice. "Why are you here? Your life seems to be going smoothly from what I've read in the newspapers. Have one of your brothers done something to get you in trouble again?"

"My brothers are always doing things to get me in trouble," Lucifer mumbles under his breath. "But I'm not here to talk about them."

"Oh? Do tell.."

"I'd actually like to discuss you."

You narrowly avoid choking on your wine.

"Me?" You arch an incredulous eyebrow at the man. He's only ever come to you when in need of advice, in need of help. Conversations have always revolved around him, never you. "Why are you really here, Lucifer? You don't need to get on my good side if you're trying to request a favor."

"You mistake my intentions." Lucifer sits up straighter in his chair. "I am here out of...consider it a thirst for knowledge. There are certain questions you've left ignored in all our time together. I'd like to know their answers."

"Ah, so you're here to sate your curiosity." The thought dampens your spirits a bit. You can't figure out why.

"Yes."

You stare at your reflection in the glass of wine. It does bring you slight pleasure to learn that Lucifer is, at last, in a place in his life where he no longer needs to come to you for advice but has the luxury to speak of other things instead. It means that he either no longer faces the troubles that once plagued him or has finally learned how to handle such things himself, both of which are steps forward in his journey to becoming a true demon.

But his excuse sounds fickle.

Curiosity is not something the Avatar of Pride is known for.

You regard him dubiously as you take another sip from your drink, trying to come up with any other ulterior motives that the demon could possibly be harboring. When you come up with nothing, you relent.

"Ask away."

"I only have one question."

You're confident that you've left more than one of his questions unanswered in all your time together, but you gesture for him to go on.

"How did you abandon all your weaknesses when you fell?"

 _Ah,_ you think. _Of course._

"I doubt you need the answer to that," You drawl with a bored lilt, leaning forward to rest your chin on your palm. "You've already figured out how to get rid of most of your own weaknesses. Well, I suppose your brothers still remain, but your alliance with Diavolo will act as a bandaid on that for now."

"That isn't an answer to my question." Lucifer crosses his arms. "You've always gone on and on about how _I_ need to be strong. So tell me, how did you do it? I've thought about this more than once in our time apart, so don't think you can avoid the question."

At the repetition, you remain stubbornly silent, not bothering to give the demon any response. You're positive that you can outwait this man; after all, isn't that all you've been doing for the past eight months?

The only issue is that Lucifer's steely gaze never leaves your eyes.

Some part of you is proud of the demon for the way he's currently behaving. It's truly demonic, the way he's pushing forward to get an answer to his question with no regard for the fact that you don't want to give him one. And that stare he's shooting you is genuinely chilling, enough to make a lower demon piss themselves in fear. Not you, of course, but it's still improvement.

It's this part of you, the part that has always been a little soft on the demon, that finally compels you to open your mouth.

"Lucifer, you remember the day I was banished."

"I do."

"And you remember the reason?"

"I do."

"Then that's that." You take a sip of your drink, abruptly wishing that you had taken the Demonus out instead. Celestial wine, for all its properties, can no longer intoxicate you. The liquid courage you were hoping for when you reached for the glass has been barred to you by your own hand.

"I was a bad angel," You finally manage to say. "And bad angels make for good demons. Father casting me out of heaven was the best thing he ever could have done for me. I never had any weaknesses to cast aside because the Devildom is where I belong. I never had to change to fit in here, Lucifer. I was never like you."

But the Avatar of Pride frowns.

"Do you truly believe that nonsense?" He asks. "When Father banished you, claiming that you didn't have enough 'love' in your heart to be an angel, did you believe him?"

"It wasn't a matter of belief, Lucifer. I _knew_ —"

"You knew what?" He snaps. "That you didn't possess an emotion in your heart that every angel is born with—a defining pillar of our people?"

"I'm not a part of your 'people,'" You respond, your voice unwavering. "Father _fucked up_ when he made me. I was born a demon, even if I lived in the Celestial Realm. I hate to break it to you, Lucifer, but I've never been the stupidly innocent angel you seem to think I was. And I know you seem to worship the idea of love, but I've _never_ been weak enough to have any of it in my heart."

The demon stands up, and now his expression is dark and thunderous, stormy and terrifying.

It makes you flinch.

"I used to think you were smart," he practically spits. He turns to leave, his long jacket rippling out behind him as he walks away from you, and you can't help but sense that when the demon walks out of your room this time, he really might not come back.

"What do you think, then?" You challenge, not getting up from your seat. "Do you truly believe Father was _wrong_ about me?"

"Do you truly believe he wasn't?" Lucifer responds in disbelief. It's the first time he's staring at you with such pity, the first time he's looking at you as if _you_ need to be helped and not the other way around.

The thought makes you angry.

"I haven't spent millennia helping you find your place in the Devildom so you could insult me like this." You let your hands tighten into fists. "I am a demon. A _true_ demon. Father was right about me, and I am happy for it. I am proud to be who I am, and—"

"How can you say that?" He waits for a moment, and you can sense his quiet hope that you'll prove him wrong. "If you truly believe that, what do you call _this_ then?" Lucifer gestures around the room, the one the two of you sit in every time he comes to ask you for advice. "What do you call everything you've done for me? You're a fool if you think that this is something a 'true demon' would—"

"Get out."

The words slip past your lips before you can decide you actually want them, but you don't dare take back a word.

You can't explain why Lucifer's next response seems to hurt you.

"Gladly."

* * *

The anger you were feeling from your fight with Lucifer cools down within minutes. It's easy to recompose yourself in the absence of his overwhelming presence, easy to relax when he isn't snapping annoying words into your ear.

It's utterly unsurprising to find that Lucifer is the same way.

He reenters your room not twenty-four hours after your disagreement, and by then, you're waiting for him. You can read his mind even before he steps inside your quarters, can already tell that he and his angelic instincts feel guilty for angering you when you've done nothing but help him.

"I expect you're here to apologize," You tell him the moment you see him, crossing your arms.

"Demons don't apologize," The Avatar of Pride responds with a light smile, all earlier signs of frustration having vanished.

"They don't, but I imagine you'll do it anyway."

"Keen observation," Lucifer remarks. "And an accurate one. I apologize if you think I insulted you."

_I apologize if you think I insulted you._

You scoff.

"That might be the worst apology I've ever heard. Because you _did_ insult me, and you were quite frank about doing so." An amused smile crosses your lips. "But I will accept it nonetheless."

"I didn't insult you," Lucifer mutters.

You raise an eyebrow. "Your insinuation that I have love in my heart was an insult. I'm a demon. Proud to be one. And demons do not love."

"Then humor me," Lucifer begins, taking his usual seat. His voice is calm, relaxed. As if he genuinely wants to discuss this with you as a conversation, not an argument. "If you do not have love in your heart, would you care to explain what this is?"

The demon casually gestures at himself, leaning back in the armchair to await your response.

You try to come up with an answer.

There's not a single doubt in your mind about what Lucifer is referring to—the sessions you've had with him from the day he fell from grace, the little offerings of advice you've given him from the day you met.

"It isn't love," Is the only answer you can come up with.

"Are you sure?" Lucifer asks, and this time, his voice isn't pushy. He's being oddly gentle. "Because I was an angel more recently than you, and I remember very clearly what love looks like."

You don't bother responding to him.

Lucifer seems content with that.

He isn't shooting you his usual icy stare, the demon instead opting to gaze at the various pieces of art you have in your room. He's looked at each of them thousands of times with how often he used to come here, but you leave him to it, busying yourself with the stack of papers on your desk. There's nothing important here—no, you've chosen to live your immortal days out in isolation where nothing important truly ever happens—but you still take interest in the various maps and charts lying around, continuing your leisurely comparisons of different source materials.

You manage to distract yourself thoroughly within the next hour, almost forgetting the presence of the demon in front of you. You don't notice when his eyes shift away from the paintings on the wall in favor of glancing at you instead, utterly unaware of how he watches your movements.

The demon reminds you of his presence with a cough.

There's an urge to speak up, an involuntary twitch that makes you want to remind him that demons aren't polite, that he doesn't need to _cough_ to get your attention, but you manage to hold back.

"These past few months, I've had free time, but never been enough to come visit." Your eyebrows furrow, confused as to where this is coming from. You're about to tell Lucifer that he doesn't need to justify his absence, that it's okay he didn't visit for so long, but he speaks up before you can. "I'm telling you because I expect the same thing will happen over the next few months."

_Oh._

You try not to let your disappointment show.

Lucifer stands from his seat and begins walking to you, abandoning the armchair he usually stations himself at in favor of standing next to you.

"All that time apart helped me do a lot of thinking." Lucifer rests his hand on the arm of your chair. You can't take your eyes off his red gloves, your fingers suddenly twitching with the urge to _touch._ "In these next few months, I suggest you do the same."

"Stop being vague," You snap, irritation budding. "Say what you mean or don't say anything at all, Lucifer."

"I'm telling you to think about love," The demon whispers into your ear, chuckling. The sound distracts you, rendering you immobile as Lucifer pulls away and straightens himself up.

"Because after eight months, I'm quite certain that I know my thoughts on the matter."

* * *

It was a confession.

After nearly one year of deliberating over the demon's words, that's what you've concluded: Lucifer's last words to you were a confession of love.

It's stupid, you think. You should have known that interacting with a demon like Lucifer—a demon who's never been a proper demon, too focused on clinging to his holy roots for his own good—wouldn't end up well.

A part of you feels sorry for the man because you're now confident that whatever emotion he harbors for you isn't reciprocated. But at the same time, you're unbothered. Because you're a _demon._ You do not care for others, and you do not love others. Your only priority is yourself, and your whole advice-based arrangement with Lucifer was never anything more than a mechanism to pass time, something your brain went along with out of sheer boredom.

And for all Lucifer's intellect, he was wrong about this one thing.

You don't love him.

It's a thought that resonates through your mind as you wait for him, confident that the demon will be walking through your front door within hours. Right now, you're sitting perched on your desk—not at it, but literally _on_ it—eyes lit up in devilish excitement for the first time in millennia.

You already have it planned out: the demon will walk saunter through your door as he always does, all proud smiles and confident grins. You won't even give him time to greet you, you'll just order him to kiss you the moment you see him. Lucifer will obey, because he always obeys—and once you've had a taste, once you've felt his lips against your own, once you can confidently say that you gave it a shot, you'll push him back and tell him he was wrong.

You smile at the thought, already thinking of the stuttered apologies Lucifer will have to give you when he realizes that you really are a demon at heart. That the Celestial Realm might have been your birthplace, but it was never your home. That you were right and he was wrong.

After having him behave so _arrogantly_ towards you, the very thought has you buzzing with excitement.

You can't help but smile as you glance down at the newspaper. It arrived at your doorstep three days late, as is to be expected when you live in the middle of an isolated woodland, but that just makes it better because the main headline is an announcement of the arrival of a weeklong holiday for the Royal Academy of Diavolo.

Which means that the holiday began three days ago.

Which happens to be the exact amount of time it takes for Lucifer to fly to your home.

And despite not having seen the demon for nearly a year, you're confident that it's your doorstep Lucifer will be coming to on this holiday. It's this confidence that pulls a broad smile to your face, one-part excitement and two-parts anticipation.

Doubt only begins to set in after hours have passed.

You begin to fidget with the fabric of your shirt, spinning quills in your fingers in anticipation as you wait. An oppressive thought begins to fester at the back of your mind: _what if Lucifer won't come?_

The thought frustrates you to no end, not because of any emotional attachment you hold to the man but for the simple reason that you were looking forward to this. You wanted to see the prideful demon bow his head and confess that you were right, you wanted to see him shed that arrogant disposition and apologize for his repeated insults to your identity.

If he doesn't come, though, that will all be for naught.

Your shoulders begin to droop, the radiant smile slowly slipping from your face. By the day's end, you're practically drooping your head, unwilling to move from your position on your desk because you feel so stupid but wanting to all the same.

You almost don't hear the gentle _click_ of your front door as it opens.

Almost.

Your eyes snap open immediately.

Your front door has been old and creaky for millennia, now; it was once new and kept in use, back in a time when Lucifer would visit you weekly and would enter through your front door every time—but as his visits have grown infrequent, the door has grown rusty. It remains open, forever unlocked because only one person uses that door and you've never barred him entry from your home, but it's difficult to maneuver, almost impossible to operate silently without magic. But as you sit on your desk, eyes wide and listening cautiously, the long _creak_ of the door as it presses open is unmistakable.

That's the sound of a door that hasn't been touched in a year opening.

That's the sound of _Lucifer._

Your posture straightens immediately, eagerness bubbling in your stomach as you hear his footsteps approach.

When the demon finally enters your study, he sees you sitting on your desk, watching his every move like a gargoyle made just for him.

"You were waiting for me."

The words are said so plainly as if they mean nothing at all. But the hint of a smile on Lucifer's face betrays him.

"I was," You respond swiftly, not bothering to come up with a lie. "I've been waiting for a long time."

"It was barely thirteen months."

"It was long enough."

The conversation ends there, but Lucifer doesn't come closer. He lingers in the doorway, refusing to take his usual position in his armchair.

 _That's fine,_ you think, lips curling upward. _If he won't take charge, then I will._

"Come closer."

There's no hint of a question in your statement; it's painfully obvious that those words were a command, an order, a demand.

You half-expect Lucifer to disobey just for the sake of his pride, but he surprises you by taking two steps forward.

"Closer." Another two steps. "Closer." Four steps. "Lucifer, come and stand right in front of my desk."

The demon finally does what you want him to, walking forward until he's right in front of you, just an arm's distance apart.

"Closer."

Lucifer's eyes flash with mirth, and he takes a step forward, his body no more than a foot away from you as you sit on your desk and he stands in front of you.

"Closer."

One more step. The last one, because Lucifer's shoes are practically pressed against the base of your desk now, and his chest is mere inches from your own. The two of you are the same height when you sit on your desk like this, and it's a new perspective.

One you very much enjoy.

"Kiss me."

You expect the demon to falter, to stutter, or to gawk. But he presses his lips against yours with a swiftness that makes you wonder if you're the predictable one, if he saw this coming.

The thought would disturb you more if you weren't so focused on the sensation of _Lucifer_ , on the strength in his fingertips as his hand cups your jaw and the warmth of his arm as it snakes around your waist, sliding you closer to him on the desk.

At the back of your mind, you remember that you had a plan. That you were supposed to pull away. That you were supposed to give Lucifer a chance and prove him wrong, prove that this isn't love.

But in the present moment, all you can think about is the electric feeling of his tongue as it slides into your mouth and forces your heart to march to the beat of a new rhythm, one filled with passion and fire and _desire._

"Lucifer—"

It takes all your strength to press a hand against the demon's chest and physically push him away from you.

When the two of you next look at each other, you're both out of breath, cheeks flushed and lips wet.

"This isn't love," you tell him, looking him straight in the eye. "This is _lust."_

Your fingers wrap around the thick material of his tie, grabbing the knot.

"So don't stop kissing me."

You don't bother waiting for him to make the move himself, yanking his tie forward and doing the job yourself so that when your lips next collide, you're the one taking charge, biting and sucking and leading.

You feel Lucifer's lips curve into a smile even as he kisses you, and the thought frustrates you.

 _I want to wreck him_ , something says in the back of your mind.

You wholeheartedly agree with the sentiment.

"Bedroom," You mumble into Lucifer's lips, letting him pull you off the desk. You don't relinquish your grip on his tie, refusing to let his lips leave yours for even a second as you take him out of the study, out of the only room you've ever allowed him into and instead to your bed.

You can't tell where the demon's hands are—can barely tell where your own clothes are. All you know is that the more you kiss Lucifer, the more electric the intensity inside you feels, a burning fire that you know _has_ to be lust.

You begin unbuttoning his shirt messily, practically throwing him onto your bed before climbing on top of the demon, allowing your lips to leave his only so that you can marvel at the sight of him underneath you.

Your grin is wolfish. Satanic. _Demonic._

You lean forward to grip the demon by the shoulders, confidence soaring through your veins as you dig your nails into his skin and swear to not let him leave this bed until you've taught him the true meaning of lust _._ The plan you once had is pushed to the back of your mind, overshadowed by desire as you press your lips against Lucifer again in preparation for the long night ahead. Everything disappears but the man in your arms, your mind wholly empty save for thoughts of what you're going to do to Lucifer in the night ahead.

* * *

It doesn't surprise you when you wake up to a cold bed and an empty house.

Such is the demon way: to fuck in the night and disappear in the morning, to give in to a temptation once and to not bother seeking the same one again, to reach a high only to chase a new one the next night.

It's something you've taken part in countless times. After all, you're a demon. You're no stranger to lust, no stranger to sin.

For some reason, though, you can't help but sense that you still want more of Lucifer, even after you've had a taste.

You shake the thought before it can fester.

From there on out, everything goes back to your usual routine. You take a walk in the woods, glancing at the crows around you and gazing at the starry sky above, only to return to your study where you sit at your desk and stare out the window.

Some days you turn your attention to the papers on your desk, focusing on how you can better compare and contrast the various maps you're looking at, and other days it seems that you do nothing at all, merely sitting at your desk, staring at the paintings on the walls.

Things go back to normal—how they used to be before you met Lucifer.

Nothing really seems to change.

You'd be lying if you said you never thought about the demon you took into your bed. The man, annoying as he is, has been a constant in your life for millennia. It's impossible not to think about him, especially not with the daily newspaper featuring his triumphs on the front page every other day.

But now, there seems to be a strange sort of pain that accompanies every thought of the firstborn.

You were confused by it at first, unsure of where it was sourced from. But after months of investigating your own mind and trying to pick it apart, you've come to realize the cause.

It's so simple, really.

You're afraid that you'll never see Lucifer again.

A small part of you hates yourself for every sleeping with the man. He was doubtlessly the best fuck of your life, but you can't help but feel that it ruined the friendship you had. Tarnished whatever image he held of you. Maybe even hurt the demon's feelings, with the way you so boldly proclaimed that the night's endeavors were being fueled not by the love he clearly sought but lust instead.

The thought annoys you, honestly. It buzzes around in your mind like an irritating fly that won't go away, a frustrating notion that you can never seem to squash.

You shouldn't care about the fact that you might not see Lucifer again; you shouldn't care that the visits you once looked forward to will stop.

You shouldn't care, and yet you do.

You think _that_ thought annoys you even more.

It's what propels you to try to forget about the Avatar of Pride completely, and you break from your self-induced isolation to venture out of the woods and head to a nightclub, one of the low-end ones where the implication is that everyone present is looking for a hookup.

Such a decision was a poor one, though. You only realize it in hindsight, but you were stupid for ever thinking that a random demon off the streets could compare to Lucifer the Morningstar, Avatar of Pride, Aide to the Prince, Lord of Hell, in bed.

You think the hookups just made you miss Lucifer even more.

A part of you takes it on as a challenge to figure out what it will take to finally get the prideful demon out of your mind. You've tried adding lovers, adding toys, adding aphrodisiacs to your nightly ventures—but nothing seems to work. At the end of every orgasm comes an involuntary flash of Lucifer's face, just like how at the end of every day, it's the Avatar of Pride who stars in all your dreams.

It wouldn't even be so bad if you weren't positively certain that Lucifer will never come to your home again.

You've always been able to predict his actions, always been able to read his mind. Figuring out his thoughts used to be so intuitive for you that you rarely had to even think about it: a gut feeling was always more than enough to steer you in the direction of the truth.

But your gut is now saying that the Avatar of Pride isn't coming back, isn't going to be venturing out into your woodland anymore.

The thought hurts you more than it should.

It's this mentality that eventually has you stumbling toward your alcohol cabinet, fingers reaching for something to help you forget those red eyes that make your heart ache curiously with every breath. Your hand instinctively reaches for the good stuff, for the expensive Celestial wine that you once saved for your visits with Lucifer.

But then you realize that the Celestial wine, delicious as it is, isn't what you need.

No, you want to forget.

And as a demon, only one drink in the world can do that for you.

Your fingers reach for the tall bottle of Demonus.

 _Swill,_ a quiet voice echoes through your mind, but you dismiss the thought instantly, pulling the bottle out. You don't bother grabbing a glass, knowing that there's no need to maintain appearances any longer. No one will be walking through your front door, no one will be coming to glare at you and make little quips as you offer advice.

No, that's all over.

You pull the bottle off the shelf entirely, your thumb already extending to rip out the corkscrew when you notice a paper in the wine cabinet, positioned elegantly next to a wine glass.

You know for a fact that you did not put it there. 

Your eyes dart from the bottle in your hands to the paper that's facing away from you, internally trying to decide.

It's no surprise what your choice ends up being.

You place the bottle of Demonus on the floor with a thud as you pinch the paper between your nails, taking it into your hands. It's an off-white and its edges are uneven, the slip clearly torn off from something larger, but something is written on one side.

You squint at the paper, bringing it to your window so you can read the words under the moonlight. It takes a moment, but you finally find an angle that works, revealing the message to your wary eyes—

_If it's lust, then anyone would be able to sate your needs. If it's love, then it will only ever be me._

And at the bottom, Lucifer's name is written, signed in looped cursive which takes up nearly have the paper.

* * *

You don't bother cleaning your house.

If anything, you readily accept that it will grow dirty, and in honor of the fact, you open up every window you have to welcome the wildlife in. Bugs begin to fly inside almost instantly, but you don't mind. You want your home to belong to these woods now, for the animals that have protected you to find security in what was once your abode.

You step outside through your back door. A part of you still feels that the front is meant for Lucifer, that you've always left it open for him and not yourself. In the end, it doesn't matter. You're leaving this place behind, and you won't be back for a long time.

If things go well, you won't be back at all.

You head outside as soon as animals begin to filter in, leaving the door open behind you as you pat your pockets one more time to make sure your wallet is with you before setting off in the direction of the nearest city.

You don't bother bringing any clothes, don't bother bringing any food. The money in your wallet is more than enough to support you on your journey to the heart of the Devildom, and you don't want to weigh yourself down with anything other than the clothes on your back.

That, and the note in your pocket.

You slip your fingers inside just to check that you have it one last time before you truly begin to follow the path you know will lead you out of the woods, breathing a sigh of relief when you find that the ripped parchment is right where it belongs.

You're honestly not sure what you'll say to Lucifer when you find him, but you imagine that the paper will do all the talking once you show it to him. And you're not particularly worried. The trip from your home to Lucifer's takes three days by flight, but on foot? By manually walking through the Devildom? It should take you a month at the very least. You'll have more than enough time to figure out what you're going to say to him. 

A part of you does feel guilty for that.

You have a feeling—a gut feeling, so it could be as wrong even though you're certain it's right—that Lucifer is waiting for you. That he _has_ been waiting for you. And by choosing to travel to him on foot, you know you're only extending your time apart.

Then again, the Avatar of Pride never had any qualms over making you wait, so you doubt that one month is going to make a difference.

The demon will likely make snippy comments about it no matter what you do.

For now, you can only continue to walk out of the forest, staring up at the crows which seem to be following you.

"Goodbye," You gently whisper to the birds. You know you'll miss the peace of your life here, of waking up and having nothing to do but smile at the animals around you and devote yourself to whatever mindless hobbies you've desired—but stagnation is the death of immortality.

And you've been stagnant for much too long.

Your expression begins to sour as soon as you draw close to the edge of the woods, a city only miles away. You can already hear how loud the district is, smell how polluted it must be. Still, you continue onward. You've isolated yourself for long enough, and the time has finally come for you to return yourself to the world.

Above you, the crows caw in alarm, almost as if pleading with you to stay.

One of them—the strange bird with markings on it—flits around you as if confused. It watches you step beyond the woods before darting forward in the direction of the city at a rapid speed, cawing at the top of its lungs.

You smile at it, perhaps for the last time. 

You like the birds of these woods. But there will be birds in the new places you'll go, in the city district you're about to enter and doubtlessly on the RAD campus where you've learned Lucifer resides. Your journey does not end here; if anything, you are only beginning it.

As you walk, you can't help but let your thoughts wander to the man who brought you here, the person responsible for what you're doing.

The truth is that you don't know what your emotions for him are. You know it is not in a demon's nature to love, but you also know you were never born a demon. And yet you were cast out of heaven for that very reason—the lack of love in your heart. But of all the uncertainties, there is one thing you know: whatever you feel for Lucifer is more than lust. Just like he said in his note, it's something only he can sate, something only he can fix.

You're still not positive on what that means—whether Lucifer will indeed be able to do anything about the feelings in your heart, whether he'll be able to fix the odd ache you've been living with for over a year now.

But you're willing to try. In the grand scheme of things, that's all that matters.

The thought sets a strong tone for your journey, resonating with your heart as you step across the boundary that lines the woods. It means that you've formally reached the outermost boundary of the city, a district of bustling activity that might scare you if you hadn't already seen it before.

You stare at it, watching. Studying the demons that are walking around and about in the distance, the tall buildings which cast looming shadows through the land.

And when you finally step forward, leaving behind the place you've called home for millennia, there is not a single hesitation in any of your steps. For you know that at the end of it all, when you finally finish your journey through the Devildom and you end up in the infamous House of Lamentation, Lucifer's study will be unlocked, the demon's doors forever open to you the way yours once were to him. ****

**Author's Note:**

> Word count: 8.9k
> 
> Notes: i wrote this a LONG time ago and finally decided to post it publicly. i was hesitant because this fic kind of? wrote itself? like i had plans and as i wrote it they were swallowed up by everything else >.> anyway, think of this as compensation for the fact that i haven't been posting much recently! i hope you like it :) 
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


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